


Why Do I Remember You?

by PrinceEllie



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Angst, Bars, Drinking, Embarassment, Love, M/M, Murdoc did a bad, Murdoc is sad now, Murdoc misses 2D, Regrets, Smoking, city life, oof
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-02-16 09:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,499
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13051326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceEllie/pseuds/PrinceEllie
Summary: Murdoc has made many mistakes in his life; too many to count. Many of them were his fault. Some of them weren't.This mistake, however... it caught up to him.Some part of him hoped it would, but now what can he do?  He broke everything, there's no chance of fixing it again.AU where Murdoc leaves the band and, years later, runs into his former singer, happy and healthy. Murdoc tries to escape, but things never go as planned.





	1. The Bar

**Author's Note:**

> Just something I whipped out in an hour or two. I miss writing a lot and I happened to stumble upon a person I miss a lot and had to leave behind, so this is a little vent-writing to help calm me down. May or may not be a sequel, stay tuned. 
> 
> Love ya guys :)

He didn’t know why he was shaking

That’s a lie, he did know

It was because he had seen his face.

The face he had forgotten. He had seen the words, heard his voice in his head. And it ripped open a hole in his heart. That’s why he was shaking.

That’s why his fingers trembled as he brought the glass of whiskey to his lips, that’s why his heart hammered in his chest like a hummingbird. It was all his fault. 

Of course, nobody in the bar, not even the boy with a shockingly bright mop of blue hair, noticed he was there. They didn’t notice his shaking or how the glass clanked too loudly against the counter when it slipped from his palm.  


“Jesus..” The bartender scolded, quickly mopping up the puddle of alcohol he left on the counter. “Pay attention, will ya?”  
He most definitely didn’t pay attention to the bartender. His eyes kept drifting over to the corner, where he sat. Surrounded by people, chatting, laughing. Probably having a great time, living his life, forgetting about the people he left behind.  


Murdoc let out a gritty chuckle and waved away the bartender, pushing himself from his stool. The leather and wood let out an annoyed squeak and he heard somebody call his name but he was already on his feet, already halfway through the sweaty mass of people and heading to the street. Nobody moved for him to get through but that was okay, he just pushed right through them. Hardly anybody noticed him anyway; who would care enough about a sickly, drunk old bassist stumbling his way through a grimy bar to even pay attention? Nobody, that’s who.  


Back in the day, he might’ve tried to hit on the pretty blonde standing in front of the door, but today wasn’t back then. He tried to brush past her to no avail, and so he resorted to snapping at her.  


“Ey, ya broad! Get ya ass away from the door, people are trying’ to use it!” He hissed, shoving her aside. She squealed in indignation, tripping over her high-heels and flinging out her arm for support against the nearest wall. Her gaggle of girlfriends stared in shock, eyes roving over the scene while chirping unnecessary words of care to their friend. Yet still, she blocked the door.  


“What the fuck is your problem, grandpa?” She retorted, glaring at him. “Gonna shit yourself? Forgot your diaper?”  


“You’re my fucking problem, ya skank, so move it before I make ya!” Anger roiled in his belly and he made himself swear he wouldn’t hit this girl. She was asking for it, yeah, but he wouldn’t go that low. He made himself content with glowering at her, standing as tall as he could. Determination and a mess of red, hot emotions filled him until he saw her face.

The second face of the night that he didn’t want to see, one bit.  


Her features morphed from pissed-off to confused to recognition, and her hot-pink lips parted in a vicious, amused sneer.  


“Oh. My. God. You’re Murdoc Niccals, aren’t you?” She began, looking him up and down. All the hot inside of him began to get replaced by cool, heavy dread. “You are! I would know you anywhere!” She crowed, waving to her friends. “Guys, look at this loser! Remember, from that one band? Godzilla, or something?”  


“Gorillaz.” He corrected, doing his best to keep a bored, careless expression even though his cheeks were warm with shame. If the bitch got any louder the entire bar would hear her… including his former band mate.  


“Who fucking cares?” with a sneer she leaned closer to him, bending her knees just enough for him to notice. “Your band is dead anyway, and a good thing too. The only thing good about it was that pretty singer. The rest of you? Trash.” She stood back up, sharing a laugh with her friends.  


“Just move away from the door and let me get fucking out.” he growled, taking a step forward. All he wanted was to get outside, breath clean air, smoke, then go home. Forget about this awful night.  


“No way, scumbag.” Murdoc could’ve sworn her eyes glittered evilly as she turned back the way he came, waving her hand in the air. “Hey guys, look! We have a rock-star here! It’s Murdoc Niccals, drunk off his ass!” She yelled loud enough for everyone to hear, rocking on her skinny legs, her friends tittering and giggling like this was the best thing that ever happened to them.  


Shame, disgust, and embarrassment flooded Murdoc from head to toe and he had had enough. With a grunt he shoved the girl to the side, not even caring if she hit the wall kind of roughly, and threw himself outside onto the step of the bar. The door slammed behind him, pushing him to disappear down the steps and down the street, slipping into the nearest alley as soon as one was available.  


“Bloody hell.” He mumbled to himself, fishing a cigarette from his back pocket. His hands still shook and that made it a little hard for him to light the damn thing, but he eventually got the hang of it and shoved the lighter back into his jacket. The smoke and nicotine was a welcome release and he slumped against the wall, closing his eyes and letting his head rest against the dirty brick. It was chilly, being the end of fall, and cold drafts brushed past his feet and ruffled his hair. Standing there, eyes closed, listening to the city, he almost felt like he could go back in time, back when things were alright.  


Back to the quick kisses in the tour bus, the sneaking out after shows. The nightly round of deciding whose bed they were gonna share that night and the quickies in alleys similar to the one he was in right now. Back to the last time he felt happy.  


That was years ago. After their last tour, something had hit Murdoc like a ton of bricks. All the things he had done to his band, his friends, the people he loved. How, at 50, he was a disgusting, abusive, untalented drunk riding on the coattails of his band mates to make something of himself. He hated it and yet couldn’t avoid it, not with that beautiful, magical, angel of a man hanging on his arm; a boy he didn’t deserve in any way, shape, or form.  


So he had left. Took one thing with him, his bass, and vanished. He had contemplated faking his death but couldn’t bear to hurt his family that badly, so he settled for a letter. One for all three of them, telling them how truly sorry he was. How happy being with them made him, how their music filled a hole nothing else could’ve, how their companionship taught him a lifetime of lessons. And just like that, he cut himself out of their lives. For them, he did it. And he knew it was the right choice, because he never let himself forget about them. He checked up on them, from wherever he ended up month after month.  


He watched with pride as Noodle blossomed into a breathtakingly strong, amazing woman who was soon topping charts with her skills and making music with some of the world’s greatest guitarists. He snuck to cities and clubs to watch Russel, bouncing from band to band, play his drums for the world. He was the first to buy his music, and some days it was all he could stand to listen to. He had never appreciated drumming like he did now, and sometimes his heart ached with the desire to tell Russell that. He knew he couldn’t.  
And 2D. Stu. His frontman.  


He didn’t know much about Stuart. He didn’t go out and live a rockstar’s life like the other two. Murdoc assumed he went home and settled back into the swing of things like he always talked about. He wasn’t sure how the boy could stand it, because it always seemed like 2D was at home on the road, but chances are Murdoc had been wrong about that too. When it came to Stu, he was wrong about a lot of things.  


Sighing, Murdoc dropped his cigarette to the ground and snuffed it out. What was the point of anything anymore? He was getting too old for this kind of life. Maybe he would die soon and go to the hell he belonged in. At least he would be where he deserved to be, instead of running around this god-forsaken planet trying to make sense of his mistakes and what he should do with his life.  


“Fuck this.” He grumbled, tucking his hands away in his pockets and ducking his head. He would go home, get himself even drunker off cheap wine and stale beer, and pray he died in his sleep. If he woke up, well… He would figure that out in the morning. Taking a deep breath he slipped out of the alley, eyes fixed on the sidewalk.

Just his luck, he bumped into someone right as he turned the corner.  


“Sorry, mate.” He spit out, stopping for just long enough for the other to hear his words. “My bad.”  
The other didn’t reply, but he could sense they were still there.  


“Is there gonna be a problem?” He asked, finally raising his head and turning to confront the stranger.

Only to see blackness staring back at him.

It took him a moment to realize it wasn’t all blackness, no… It was eyes. Black eyes.

Right in front of him.

His singer.  
Standing there with alcohol-pinked cheeks. That same blue hair, being tugged on by the wind. Those same eyes, staring at him, just beginning to glisten with tears. Those lips he cherished more than anything, the lips he never forgot, the lips that saved his life… parted in shock, chewed raw and red. 

It was Stuart. 

They stared at each other in silence, the only sounds the normal ones of the city. Murdoc’s feet felt glued to the concrete, his entire body made of ice. His heart screamed, absolutely trashed and fought and screamed for him to take the other and hold him until he turned to dust, beg forgiveness on his knees and pray this was his second chance, but he couldn’t.

So he stared hopelessly at the other, watched in agony as the tears began to trickle down his face, locked his itching fingers in his pocket so they didn’t reach out and wipe them away. And he steeled his heart for whatever came next, hoping it wouldn’t crack that one final bit and break for good.

Stu’s voice was rougher than he remembered. Maybe it was the tears, but it sounded more like he screamed it raw on a daily basis. Knowing him, that could be likely. But regardless, it still stabbed right through Murdoc when it wobbled out, unsure and scared and more than hurt. It struck him to the very core when he heard it, forming his name, like a wrecked, twisted scrap of a question. It shattered that one bit of his heart he had left when his angel, standing there in front of him, murmured his name like he had so many times before. Murdoc hadn’t even noticed his own eyes, spilling over with all the tears he held inside of himself. He was too busy lost in the other’s, searching them for some sort of answer. Some sort of love he might salvage, he might deserve.

“Muds?”


	2. Bridge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyeyey.  
> Liked this little piece so much I couldn't bear to get rid of it, so instead, I decided to use it as a nice bridge between chapters!
> 
> I don't know how well it will work out, but I'll try it, and I can always delete it later :)
> 
> I'm working on the last chapter at the moment, so no worries! Even though this little snippet is short, you won't have much longer to wait!!
> 
> ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Stuart…” 

Time seemed to stop for several seconds as they stared at each other. Suddenly insecurities flooded Murdoc. Did his hair look okay? What was he wearing? What would Stu think of him?  
Stuart looked… great. Really, he did. His eyes had a little more light to them, and he had gained some weight and filled out his skinny frame. He didn’t look so sick like he used to in the band days.  


“You.. you look...good..” Murdoc mumbled, fingers digging into his palms inside his pockets. His voice sounded small and pathetic.  


“Thanks…” Stu looked at the ground, fiddling with his own fingers. God, how Murdoc remembered those hands…  


“Stu, look, I-” He tried to speak but his bandmate looked up then, cutting him off.  


“Do you have a place we can go? An apartment, or something?” He asked, stuffing his hands into his jeans. He still didn’t make eye contact with Murdoc, but he nodded anyway.

“I, uh… walked here. Do you mind walking? We can get a car, if you’d prefer..”  
“Walking is fine. I’ll follow you.”


	3. This is the End of Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the end for them.  
> Nothing will ever be the same.
> 
> Murdoc is too old, too broken, and too lost.
> 
> Stuart is just...
> 
> Stuart can't. Not anymore.
> 
> It's too late.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOop  
> the eNd  
> Hi Guys!  
> I wasn't sure if I should make it happy or sad, and I decided that it should be.......
> 
> Well, you gotta wait and see!
> 
> This is the end of this fic, btw! Feel free to leave comments if you have something you want to see. Personally I'm thinking about writing some Yuri on Ice fanfics, but I love 2doc, so, ya know...
> 
> Enjoy!

He didn’t know why he felt like crying.

Well, crying and screaming.

Actually, he did know. He was pretty sure it was because he saw his face.

He had managed to forget about Murdoc most of the time. Ever since he disappeared, Stu’s heart had been broken, but eventually it started to heal over. Eventually, after enough time….things had gotten better. He had gone back to a slightly normal life. Without the band he was lonely, of course, but they all kept in touch. He had gone back home, gotten a few jobs, and was very happy traveling the country, singing, and making his own music.

Ending up at that bar had been a fluke, a twist in his plans that he did not anticipate but didn’t fully mind. Drinking with friends was always fun, really, and he didn’t care where it happened. But what cruel fate that orchestrated this current string of events? What are the odds? The sheer luck it took for the two of them to meet... it was too much for Stuart to wrap his tipsy head around. 

He let Murdoc lead the way to wherever there were going, keeping his eyes on the ground, looking up just enough to watch Murdoc’s feet and follow him. Surprisingly he was able to walk straight, and he was slightly grateful he hadn't actually drank that much before his fag break. As they walked Stuart noticed the other had stopped wearing his Cuban heels and instead wore a worn pair of black leather boots. That explained why he seemed shorter than Stu remembered. 

The city was damp and cold, typical of the late fall season they were currently in. Huffing out a short breath Stu burrowed deeper into his jacket. 

It wasn’t really fair, he mused, that whatever power at be pushed Murdoc back into his life at this moment. Things were just starting to settle. He was just starting to get better. He was just starting to miss him less. This wouldn't heal him; this man before him. He couldn't- they had already tried. 

     “We’re almost there.” Murdoc called back to him. As Stuart glanced up he managed to catch Murdoc turning away, telling him the bassist was looking at him. He didn’t know how that made him feel. He wrung his fingers in his pockets, the knuckles popping. He didn't want to think about it. 

 

Time seemed to creep but Murdoc wasn’t wrong; they arrived at his apartment building in decent time. It seemed nicer than he would’ve expected from Murdoc and he tried to hide his mild surprise as he was led to the third floor. He was silent as he watched him fumble through his jean pockets for his keys, observing the way his shoulders hunched, his nose crinkled… The way his fingers moved…

It was all sickenly familiar. 

 

     “Here we are, home sweet home.” Murdoc mumbled as he shouldered open the door, striding inside expectantly. Stu followed, gently pushing the door shut behind him as Murdoc turned on the light. 

 

     “It’s not much, I hope you don’t mind. It’s...I like it.” Murdoc said as he gestured to the small flat. He seemed embarrassed and nervous, two things he had rarely seen in the bassist. Looking around, Stu continued to be surprised. It was decently clean. There were no old booze bottles and no lingering piles of cigarette butts (there was an ashtray, but it seemed barely used). There were no dirty clothes -at least in the living room- and from what he could see, no dirty dishes in the kitchen. Instead, loose papers covered in scribbles were scattered across the coffee table or stuffed into notebooks. He had a large bookshelf and a small TV, and several guitars on stands scattered about with cords and speakers covering the floor. Stu spotted two other doors, one cracked enough to show a bathroom, and another which had to be a bedroom. 

 

     “This… is different.” Stuart finally admitted, almost impressed. What happened to Murdoc to make this kind of change?   
  


     “Yeah..uh..ya know..my shrin- ah” He caught himself mid sentence, changing the subject. “Feel free to..Make yourself comfortable. I’ll make a drink?” Without waiting for a response Murdoc turned and went to the kitchen. Stu gingerly set himself on the far end of the couch. 

What did he even hope to achieve by following Murdoc home? What were they going to talk about? How Murdoc abandoned him? How hurt he was? This was a bad idea, he should go…

     “This was a mistake.” He called out, pushing himself back to his feet. “I’m going home. I’m…”

Murdoc walked in, two mugs in his hand. He wasn’t getting alcohol? What was in those mugs? He looked Stuart standing and his face fell a little more. Something in his eyes looked...broken.

     “Stu..please...can I at least..I want to apologize..” He set the cup down on the coffee table, tucking his hands back into his pockets. “I know I fucked up.”

     “You fucked up, alright.” Stu scoffed. “You fucked up big time, Murdoc.” 

From the short glance Stu managed, Murdoc looked...shit, he looked like a beaten puppy. He decided he would hear him out, at least a little bit. Maybe that wasn’t the best idea. Part of the singer wanted to say he would hear him out to justify his own curiosity, to give him closure so he could move on, but… There was no denying the nagging part of him hoping for a fairy-tale ending.

     “Stu, I know you can’t forgive me.” He began, all but falling into the couch opposite of where Stu had been. He was giving him space. “And I don’t want to give you shitty excuses. I don’t know if I did the right thing for the right reason, but I… I left. I can’t change that.”

Silently Stu sat himself opposite Murdoc, picking up a cup and settling it in his lap. He made it a point to stare at the cup and resolved to  _ only _ look at the cup.

     “Well?” he pressed, when Murdoc remained silent.  
   
     “Well…” There was some rustling, a sigh. “I’m.. I’m an awful person. I figured that much out. I knew it and finally made myself accept it, and it was too much. The horrible things I was doing to the band, to...to you. To Noodle and Russ. I was abusive, disgusting, horrible. I’m nothing on my own; a shitty bassist with shitty lyrics relying on you guys to keep my haphazard dream afloat.”

He heard Murdoc take a drink of his own cup, and what he assumed was him running a hand through his hair. How often did he do that before, brushing those bangs out of the bassist’s face for him while he practiced...revealed his eyes so Stu had something to stare into at night…

     “I would lie awake thinking about how far you guys could go without me. I was angry, partly because  i wasn’t good enough, but mostly… mostly because I was holding you guys back from a good life. So I did the only thing I could think of.” 

     “You left us.” The amount of hurt in his own voice even surprised Stuart and he swallowed, trying to steady himself. “You left us.” He repeated, stronger.

 

Murdoc’s voice was small and pained.

     “I left, yeah.” a sad sigh. “I left  _ you _ , Stu, and..fuck… I haven’t forgotten that fact ever since. I’ve never...I’m..I’m sorry, Stuart. I’m sorry.”

 

They sat in silence for awhile. Murdoc seemed to be waiting for Stuart, and Stuart was too conflicted to speak. So they shared the silence, alone, in that apartment.

The last thing Stuart had expected was an apology. It was another rare thing to experience from Murdoc, of all people, but he realized it was something he had been hoping for. 

He..he was angry. How dare Murdoc apologize now? How dare he think Stuart will just  _ take _ this…

     “Fuck you, Murdoc.” He finally spit, gripping the cup almost too tightly. He decided to set it down, before he broke it. “Just.. Fuck you.”

     “Stu-”  
  
     “No!” He jumped to his feet, finally meeting Murdoc’s eyes. They were… different. How  much of him had changed? This wasn't Murdoc... There was no possible way.   
  
     “No, you.. You can’t just..” He fisted his hands at his sides, shaking his head. “You can’t just leave, leave us, leave  _ me.  _ You can’t just vanish, then run into me at some random bar, then apologise. You can’t just make me feel like this, like there’s some twisted version of hope, and you can’t… you can’t just be so...so... _ different!!”  _

_      " _ Different?” 

    “Different! You have this nice apartment, you stopped wearing those shitty Cuban heels. This place is clean and you don’t smell like booze and fags. I’m… I’m looking at you and you aren’t even angry! You never would’ve let me yell before without at least yelling back. Hell, I’m pretty fucking sure you almost said ‘my shrink’ earlier! Are you seeing a fucking shrink, Murdoc?!” He blurted. His cheeks felt warm (He refused to believe, however, that the warmth was caused by tears and not anger) and his fingernails bit into his palms viciously. A familiar flicker of fear sparked to life in his stomach when Murdoc stood. His head felt like a whirlpool and nothing made sense except that  _this_   _was wrong._

Everything was different and  _wrong._

     “Do you want me to be angry, Stu?” He growled. “Do you want me to yell and scream and beat you with a bottle or my boots like I used to? Do you want me to be living in a shithole, wishing I was dead half the time I was awake because I was purely a pile of shit?” 

     “Yes! Yes, I do! That would make so much more sense to me than seeing this...this...whatever this is! This...fake!” 

 

They fell back into silence. Murdoc stared, appearing...shocked. Shaking, Stu turned his face away and wiped his face, trying to hide the overflow of tears leaking from his eyes.

 

     “I’m a fake to you now?” He murmured, sounding hurt. “I’m… ya know? That seems right.” He heard Murdoc fall back to the couch, chuckling to himself. “That sounds about right; being a fake, I mean. Now that you mention it, I always have been.”

     “Murdo-” Stu felt like he made a mistake and his stomach clenched. He hadn’t meant to say something like that to Murdoc, he was just.. Confused. Hurt.

     “No, you’re right Stu. I was a fake as a kid, a fake in the band. I’m a shitty bassist, I wasn’t important to the band. You were the frontman, and the whole lot of you would’ve been great without me. After I left, I tried to better myself. At least to feel better before I died. I cleaned my apartment, got a job and a shrink. Cut down on my drinking. But it was fake. I was faking. I’ve always been faking.” His eyes slid up to meet Stu’s, and he gave a sad smirk. “You’re right on the dot, Stu, like always.”

     “Were  _we_ fake?”

 

The question that had haunted Stuart ever since Murdoc left.

 

He finally asked.

 

It was out there.

And Murdoc was silent.

  
  


For a long time, he was silent.

     “If my whole life was fake, Stuart, then being with you was the realest I’ve ever felt.” 

Stu’s breath caught in his throat and a mix of emotions bubbled inside of him. Relief, happiness and… sadness. Hurt.

     “Murdoc…”

     “I’ve never regretted anything more than I regretted leaving you, Stu.” He whispered, barely audible. If the apartment wasn’t dead silent, the words never would’ve been heard. Even quieter was the slight waver to his voice.

     “Stu, I don’t expect you to forgive me.  I just want you to know… I couldn’t stop hurting you and that’s not love. That’s not what you deserved. I couldn’t… I couldn’t love you like I wanted to. And you deserve better. Everyone else deserved better.”

He stood, not able to meet the singer’s eyes. Stu was frozen, stuck between taking Murdoc in his arms and leaving the apartment all together. He remained conflicted as Murdoc shuffled quietly past him, mumbling “Feel free to stay or see yourself out, whatever. You should be able to get an Uber soon, if you call ‘em.” 

 

And with that, Murdoc disappeared a second time, this time behind his bedroom door. 

 

He still felt just as far away.

  
  
  
  
  


When Murdoc awoke the next day (more like just left his room, because honestly, there was no way he slept at all), Stu was gone. It was like the whole night had been a fever dream and never happened in the first place. The only sign it was real were the two now-cold cups of tea on the coffee table.  
     Murdoc picked the mugs up, something sour settling in his stomach. He had stayed up all night conflicted about what he actually wanted to happen but now he knew… He was hoping Stuart had stayed. For whatever selfish reason, he had hoped. But it was better for both of them, but the heart wants what it wants. With a sigh he took the mugs to the kitchen sink, the sound of the ceramic clanking against the metal and filling the otherwise silent space.

He turned and braced himself against the edge of the sink, running a hand over his face. Again, the age old question; where had it all gone wrong?

Blinking away his exhaustion, he finally noticed it. A small note, neatly placed in the center of his mostly useless kitchen table. It was snatched up without a second thought, though it took Murdoc a moment of quiet starting to work up the nerve to actually open it. He didn’t know what to expect but it wasn’t this…

 

_ Murdoc, _

_ I loved you too. _

_ Goodbye. _

_ -Stuart.  _

  
  


So this was it.

 

Murdoc gently re-folded the note and placed it back where he found it. He didn’t acknowledge the small tears rolling down his cheeks, or the conflicting feelings of hot pain and cold relief in his chest. 

This was the end.

 

“Goodbye, Stu.”

 


End file.
